


Broken

by Klaudia_Vick



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Borderline Personality Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:52:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klaudia_Vick/pseuds/Klaudia_Vick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes things can’t be fixed, no matter how hard you try, is what Bertholdt thought, but maybe when it comes to him and Reiner it will all work out in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

 

Bertholdt was a quiet person by nature. He observed and stayed in the background, left decision-making and leading to Reiner ever since they were kids, and he didn’t question things, at least not out loud.

“You wanna see if we can climb to the top of that huge tree?” eight-year-old Reiner once had asked, grinning and practically bouncing with excitement.

“Sure,” had been seven-year-old Bertholdt’s only answer before he followed his friend through branches and leaves until it felt as if they were on top of the world. For some mysterious reason they had always come out of those escapades without even as much as a scratch on them or getting caught.

Sometimes Bertholdt had suspected a higher power.

Reiner had always looked out for him and protected him, had always been there whenever Bertholdt needed him, no matter the reason. Bertholdt trusted him like no one he’d ever trusted before or would ever trust. Reiner was Reiner, as simple as that.

It was only natural to let Reiner lead even as they got older, especially in the year 845, when Reiner had looked him in the eye with fierce determination and told Bertholdt he could do this; he could transform and just make that little kick. That was all Bertholdt needed to do, Reiner had said, so Bertholdt had done exactly that and left the rest to Reiner.

He’d felt guilty during and after. He’d been feeling guilty ever since. But he knew it was something that had needed to be done, and much later, when Bertholdt looked at Reiner and saw his friend standing unfazed and almost proud, Bertholdt suppressed that guilt and put it in a box with a thousand locks on its lid. If Reiner could do it, so could he, was what Bertholdt thought.

Still, in reality he had no idea what was going on inside Reiner, just like Reiner had no idea what was really going on inside Bertholdt.

Some best friends they were.

For five years, until the year 850 came, it was almost easy. At least, in the midst of training and being with other wannabe-soldiers, it was easy to forget who they really were. No, maybe not forget, Bertholdt realized. Just shove it aside and ignore it. Pretend. Play along.

Reiner did a remarkably good job of that, actually, and Bertholdt was amazed. Even when he himself shook inside, unwanted feelings simmering under the surface, as Eren talked about Shiganshina and witnessing the invasion of Wall Maria, Reiner just kept up with the conversation and looked interested, as if it hadn’t been them there, in front of the gates, breaking through it as the Armored and Colossal Titans.

Those were the very first times Bertholdt suspected that something wasn’t right with Reiner—that something had broken inside him, not like in Bertholdt, though, not like the guilt that was eating Bertholdt away, slowly, but something more drastic. Something that maybe couldn’t be fixed.

Not as if the overwhelming guilt and being disgusted with himself could be fixed, really, yet… Reiner was different.

Reiner smiled for God’s sake. _Smiled_.

Bertholdt hadn’t smiled in about five years, but there Reiner was, talking and laughing at their table during dinner after a hard training day that had ended with everyone bone-tired and sweaty, and in contrast here he was, sitting next to Reiner, contemplating his friend’s sanity and his own self-worth.

Bertholdt usually arrived at the conclusion that he had no self-worth.

Someone said something funny, must have, because Reiner snorted some juice up his nose, making him cough then vigorously wipe at it while elbowing Bertholdt in the side and glancing at him with laughing eyes, as if saying, ‘Come on, Bert, it was funny.’

Sometimes Reiner was a dork and it almost, almost made Bertholdt smile.

But maybe he should have laughed along his friend, because when Reiner realized it was a futile attempt to try to pull Bertholdt into the fun happening around them, his hazel eyes clouded and his face fell, as if suddenly, and only for a fraction of a second, reality caught up with him.

Bertholdt felt guilty about that, too. A laughing Reiner surely was better than a brooding Reiner, right? Which was right, then? Bertholdt didn’t know what to think anymore.

That night was the first time Reiner sneaked into his bed at night, serious and weary, and asked if they could talk a little. Everyone else was sleeping around them and it was dark, so Bertholdt pondered for a mere second before lifting the covers and scooting over to make place for his broad-shouldered friend.

“Thanks,” Reiner murmured and climbed in, turning onto his right side, facing Bertholdt slightly too close for comfort. The bed was small, but not _that_ small.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Bertholdt finally asked softly when it seemed that his friend was content just by lying there and staring at his face with gradually sleepier eyes.

Reiner casted his gaze away, somewhere over Bertholdt’s head. “Do you ever regret it?”

Bertholdt didn’t have to ask what he was referring to. Not much there, really, to choose from. “No. Yes.” He shrugged. “Sometimes.” That was true enough.

“Me, too,” Reiner sighed and looked back at him with a little frown. “I regret many things, actually.”

Bertholdt’s brows climbed high. “Oh?”

Reiner nodded curtly, hands coming up so he could tuck them under his chin. So sure and strong usually, he looked strangely vulnerable like that and the sight did weird things to Bertholdt’s chest.

“So what do you regret the most?” he asked, curious, as if the answer wasn’t obvious. At least Bertholdt thought it was.

Reiner gave him a half-smile. “You’d be surprised.” Bertholdt narrowed his eyes which made Reiner snort out a laugh. “Never mind, actually. Not important.”

Bertholdt didn’t believe him but stopped prodding anyway. He had an inkling feeling Reiner wouldn’t have told him and Bertholdt wasn’t sure he would have liked the answer if it came.

Closing his eyes, Bertholdt thought about telling Reiner to get back to his own bed before someone saw them sleeping together, but he fell asleep before he could have gone through with it. When he woke up, though, Reiner was gone, and Bertholdt couldn’t decide if he was relieved by that or not.

Those short, strange late-night talks happened another few times and they always ended the same way—without any solution and with Reiner gone by the morning.

 

*

 

It was the second year of their training, and there was something else beside the out-of-character behavior that Bertholdt noticed when it came to Reiner.

Among the trainees, there was a guy named Jon, tall, lean, dark-haired, quite skilled and a few years older than them, whom Reiner seemed to forget his gaze on whenever Jon was practicing near them or sitting close when they ate.

At first, Bertholdt didn’t think much of it; it wasn’t as if Reiner’s habit was that obvious or loaded with meaning. But then the distant staring lasted longer than a couple of seconds, and there was that one time when Jon showed off in front of everybody who cared to watch by doing a back flip, causing Reiner to trip over his _own feet_ of all things while sparring with Bertholdt—that, in Bertholdt’s opinion, could no longer be ignored.

Therefore whenever Reiner looked at Jon, Bertholdt watched his friend, trying to catch a telling reaction and figure out the reason behind it, and a few days later it took him Reiner imperceptibly licking his lips to finally understand.

It was as shocking as it was not, really. As if Bertholdt had always suspected something like this.

What was more shocking, though, was the moment Bertholdt caught Jon watching Reiner when Reiner wasn’t looking. If it was possible, Bertholdt stuck to his friend’s back even more after that, following him around as if they were literally inseparable. Why suddenly it mattered that Reiner wouldn’t learn about Jon glancing his way, Bertholdt couldn’t say—he just wasn’t willing to let that happen, was all.

Eventually Reiner learned of it anyway, in spite of Bertholdt’s best efforts. How, Bertholdt didn’t know.

One night Bertholdt woke from a nightmare and as he always did when that happened, he searched for Reiner in the dimness of the barrack, only he couldn’t find him in his bed, not anywhere. With a heavy feeling in his stomach he wandered outside, and that was how, a couple of minutes later, he found Reiner behind the storage where they kept their gears, shoved against the wall with Jon’s mouth, hands and body all over him.

The only reason Bertholdt ended up watching the two for a minute or two was because he couldn’t move his body—he froze right there, eyes wide open and unable to turn away.

It was an image of his friend Bertholdt never thought he would see, and if he was honest he had never even wanted to. Not like this, not with Jon. Somehow it just wasn’t right.

Thankfully, he snapped out of it before he could have been discovered—not as though those two were in any state of being able detecting anything around them—and with a scowl on his face Bertholdt twisted around and went back inside where he laid on his bed as if nothing had happened.

Hands curling into fists, he turned onto his side and swore to never mention it to Reiner, and with a sinking feeling in his gut, he couldn’t help but stay awake until he heard Reiner sneak back.

 

*

 

When 850 arrived, it all became worse. Especially Reiner. Bertholdt didn’t really change aside from hating himself even more and feeling another wave of guilt crushing him, which he, of course, kept all that bottled inside. His way of—if not perfect—coping with the price of their mission and the price of being warriors.

Bertholdt soon realized that Reiner, the person who was laughing and joking around, the one who called himself a soldier and helped others out, was nothing but a fake image. Even Reiner’s jokes took it sometimes too far, like that remark about shoving up the blade up the titans’ asses because that’s their only other weak spot. It took a considerable amount of restraint on Bertholdt’s side to prevent himself from rolling his eyes and snorting, so instead he just took pleasure in thinking sarcastically ‘Are you perhaps talking from personal experience, Reiner?’

Because, honestly… Reiner, that big oaf with that stupid mouth of his.

At first, Bertholdt thought it all was a good thing— _kind of_ good thing—because it meant that Reiner was also dealing with the weight on his shoulders, albeit in a different way than Bertholdt was.

Reiner chose to be open when Bertholdt chose to close up.

Berthold let it go for a long time—it wasn’t as if he had the time to worry about it much, not with the aftermath of the battle of Trost, the application to the Survey Corps, the mission outside the walls, the Female Titan’s mystery or when they revealed their true identities to Eren.

But there were times when he could no longer ignore it and not just stop and wonder about it, like when Reiner recklessly saved Connie’s life and was willing to jump out the window of the tower with his arm stuck in between a titan’s teeth. What the hell was Reiner thinking then? What could have been going through his head, appearing to be not giving a second thought to his acts? As if that was only natural, saving a fellow soldier and risking his own life as a result? Being a _soldier_?

Bertholdt had always had a close eye on his friend, but during and after that, he could barely look away.

So when Connie asked, “Say, Bertholdt, was Reiner always like this?” Bertholdt slowly turned to glance at him, slightly taken aback by the well-aimed question.

“No,” he said sparsely. “In the past, Reiner was a warrior. Different from how he is now.” And it worried Bertholdt to no end.

Then when Reiner, flabbergasted and incredulous, spoke up and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean? Warrior? What are you even talking about?” Bertholdt’s worries reached entirely new heights. He knew it would only become even worse from then on.

 

*

 

While holding Eren and Ymir captured they were talking about taking Eren back to their hometown, and Bertholdt thought that, for once, Reiner seemed to be focused and aware of their situation. Of course, as soon as Bertholdt relaxed at the thought of that, Reiner started talking about getting promoted for the work they’d done, deserving appreciation as _soldiers_.

That one word said it all. Bertholdt knew it was happening again. And damn, but Reiner, he was so… so _gone_ , that even Eren’s yelling and Ymir’s words couldn’t snap him back to reality.

“There’s nothing normal about him,” Ymir remarked, sounding amused. “Right, Bertholdt?”

Bertholdt would have loved to say ‘No, you’re wrong,’ and stand up for his friend, but why should he kid himself? Yeah, he’d known it for a long, long time.

“Huh?” Reiner looked up at him, clueless and shocked.

“Reiner… You’re not a soldier. We’re supposed to be warriors.”

The harsh truth seemed to have the needed impact on Reiner, because he muttered, “Ah, yeah… You’re right,” and buried his face in his palm. “What the hell…”

Bertholdt just sat there and listened to them, inwardly nodding along to Ymir’s explanations.

A split personality. Yeah, that really could be the perfect answer to Reiner’s behavior, but putting a name on in didn’t make Bertholdt feel any better or happier. He still had no idea how to deal with this Reiner, how to help him, or whether or not he can be helped at all. That last possibility pained him even more.

Later, as they were talking about whether Ymir can be trusted or not, out of the blue Reiner said, “You have to tell Annie how you feel, after returning home.” His hand was on Bertholdt’s shoulder, his expression hard and reserved.

Bertholdt didn’t understand what his friend was talking about. Annie? The abrupt mention of her left Bertholdt dumbfounded.

“You stare too much,” was Reiner’s angry, almost hissed explanation, but for Bertholdt that didn’t clear up much. He didn’t think he stared, not just much but not _any_. Not more and not differently than one mass-murderer Titan-shifter at another mass-murderer Titan-shifter. And if he had been staring _much_ , then it hadn’t been at Annie but at Reiner. Bertholdt knew he’d always had his gaze closely following his friend, no matter what they’d been doing or where they’d been. It’d been bordering on inappropriate a few times. How could Reiner be confused about that? Reiner had been with him since they were small kids and knew Bertholdt better than anyone.

“We’re all short-lived mass-murderers, right? Aside from us, who would be able to understand?” Reiner said, bitter and self-deprecating. When he was talking like this, Bertholdt knew it was the warrior talking not the soldier. It was his real self, not the one he had created, or had been created by way of coping unbeknownst to even Reiner himself.

Bertholdt also knew that Reiner was right—no one would understand the whys, their reasons behind everything. No one would ever come close to understanding who they really were but each other—and apparently, Reiner thought, Annie. But that wasn’t the same. Annie hadn’t been there and grown up with them; she had never been a friend of theirs, not really, not in the true sense of the word. Rather, maybe a comrade, an ally, someone who went through and done similar things, someone they considered to stand on their side, someone who would even help them achieve their goal, but she could _never_ be as close to Bertholdt as Reiner was.

Only apparently, Reiner didn’t think so. He seemed to have a twisted view on things, misconceptions as to whom Bertholdt was watching like a hawk, whom Bertholdt wanted to follow and whom he wished to protect and hoped to be with forever.

But before he could have responded somehow, in the distance smoke signals flared, and there was no longer place for sentimentality or discussion of feelings. They were back to a reality that was as gruesome as their thoughts.

Nevertheless, Bertholdt hoped he would get the chance to bring it all up again later.

 

*

 

When it was now only the three of them, their plan of taking both Eren and Christa failing, barely escaping those titans devouring Reiner’s titan form, Bertholdt sought out Reiner and pulled him aside as Ymir slept. He needed to talk to Reiner and he needed to do that now while he had the courage and determination to follow through with it. That didn’t mean he wasn’t shaken anymore—often enough his thoughts took him back to mere hours before when they had been on the verge of dying by that titan horde.

“What’s wrong?” Reiner asked, brows furrowed, while Bertholdt led him a little farther down on Wall Maria where they’d escaped to and decided to stay for the night. They were back to Shiganshina District where it all had started almost six years ago.

“You,” was what Bertholdt said until they reached a spot where they wouldn’t be heard or seen by Ymir if she happened to wake up. There, Bertholdt turned and looked at his friend, unable to keep the worry he’d been feeling for years from showing.

“Me?” Reiner asked back, surprised.

Bertholdt nodded with a grim expression. What should he say? Words always stuck in his throat when it was important, and this, right here, was exceptionally important. “You’re not yourself,” he ended up saying. No, accusing. “You haven’t been yourself for a long time, Reiner.”

Reiner laughed, but it was shaky and joyless. “’Course I have been.”

Bertholdt narrowed his eyes and took a step forward. “Can you even tell what’s real?”

“Real? Like the ruins of Shiganshina down there and that it’s night?” he said, coming off as if he was just humoring Bertholdt.

“No. Like what’s real about you and what’s not,” Bertholdt pressed, crossing his arms, willing Reiner to finally just be himself.

Reiner’s brows shot up and his eyes widened a fraction. Good.

“I hope you know what I’m talking about, because if you don’t, then…” Bertholdt trailed off and sighed, shaking his head. Because then he had no idea what to do.

Reiner’s shoulders sagged and his gaze fell to the ground. “I don’t know how to answer your question.”

Bertholdt nodded to himself. That was a response he could work with—that meant it wasn’t all lost. Reiner wasn’t all lost. “Okay. So let me ask you this. You said I should tell Annie how I feel when we get home. Will _you_ tell the person _you_ like when we get home?”

Reiner snapped his head up, eyes now wide and shocked, but then that look disappeared all-together and a little half-smile formed on his lips. “Do you mean Christa? I don’t think she would appreciate it. Or Ymir, for that matter,” he added with a chuckle that had a dark edge.

Bertholdt shook his head and let out a long sigh. Okay, so it wouldn’t be that easy. Looking Reiner square in the eye, Bertholdt said sternly, “You don’t like Christa, Reiner.”

“I don’t?” he asked back, appearing to be confused by that sentence.

Bertholdt just reinforced quietly, “No.”

Reiner frowned and glanced away, into the dark night. “I don’t, huh…” he muttered, contemplating, as if he couldn’t believe he didn’t like her, yet _could_.

It was worse than Bertholdt had first thought. Reaching out and grabbing Reiner’s forearm, he spoke up hesitantly. “But you do like someone, don’t you?” Now that they weren’t kids anymore, now that Bertholdt had a more solid grasp on life and things involving his friend and him, Bertholdt could think back and recall signs indicating he was right about this.

Reiner slowly turned back toward him, first peering down at his arm being seized by Bertholdt, then with his gaze he followed that hand and arm until he was looking up into Bertholdt’s eyes. Reiner now seemed really confused, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together, a deep crease settling between his brows.

Bertholdt kept silent. What else could he say to make his friend see? Make him remember everything Bertholdt was remembering right now?

But maybe Reiner didn’t want to remember, not just the bad things but the good either. Because, undeniably, there _had been_ good things. Not much of those, of course, but they wouldn’t have been able to keep going if it had been nothing but the horrible images of what they’d done. What they _still had to do_. But at least they’d had each other.

They still had each other, and that was the good part. The best. It would always be the best part.

So why was Reiner trying to erase that? Why was he so adamant about Bertholdt liking Annie and him liking Christa when it couldn’t have been farther from the truth? It had been one of the few things that kept Bertholdt sane, the knowledge he would always have Reiner, that he had Reiner’s attention like no one else had.

But maybe it was one of the things that held Reiner back instead of propelling him forward—for him maybe it was a baggage that pulled him back, so he cut the rope and got rid of it.

Bertholdt’s chest tightened at the thought, and as the light changed in Reiner’s eyes, becoming more aware and real, Bertholdt slid his hand from his forearm until his fingers were curling around Reiner’s resisting hand.

Looking at Reiner, trying to convey his feelings and thoughts through a pleading gaze, Bertholdt waited.

It didn’t take much until Reiner’s eyes fluttered closed and a sigh escaped him. His hand turned and closed around Bertholdt’s fingers with a small squeeze.

“I’m sorry, Bert,” he whispered, face turned away, eyes now open and staring into the darkness of the ruins again.

Yeah, Bertholdt was sorry, too, for not realizing sooner what was going on with Reiner, for not acting on it before it had come to this.

Suddenly, Reiner smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one—it was self-deprecating and sad. “So who do I like, Bertholdt?”

Was he really expecting an answer or was it rhetorical? Bertholdt kept silent and continued watching him.

“Why did I—” Reiner said but stopped and snorted. “It isn’t what I wanted. How did it happen? Why? When? I don’t understand.”

Bertholdt narrowed his eyes as he wondered what, exactly, Reiner was talking about. Liking Bertholdt or simply liking a _guy_?

Reiner shot him a sideways glance and said, “I know I like guys, the way other guys like girls. I long ago figured that one out. It isn’t even that uncommon, did you know?” he added as an afterthought, a little amazed. “I wouldn’t have thought.” He shrugged and his fingers slipped away from Bertholdt’s grasp. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, still showing his profile to Bertholdt, Reiner asked quietly in a low voice, “But why you, Bertholdt?”

Actually, Bertholdt didn’t want to know the why. It wasn’t as if it could be explained away, anyway. It just happened. Sometimes things happened and that was that.

Reiner didn’t seem to want to say anything more, so Bertholdt took the opportunity and as casually as he could while feeling quite nervous, asked back, “Why not?” Because yes, why not? Why was it a problem? Why was Reiner trying to make it difficult, or more difficult than it had to be?

At that, Reiner turned around to glare at him. “Why not?” he repeated, words heated and angry. “Are you insane? What good could possibly come from that?”

Bertholdt stepped back, perplexed. What good _couldn’t_?

“Come on, Bert, don’t make this harder,” Reiner scoffed and rolled his eyes.

_Bertholdt_ was making this harder? He didn’t think so.

“You want me to spell it out for you why it could be nothing but bad?” Reiner snorted. “Fine.” He pointed at himself and hissed, “I like you,” then he pointed at Bertholdt, completely ignorant at the way Bertholdt’s heart skipped a beat, and snarled, “You like Annie.” Then with a shrug of one shoulder and a sardonic smile he added, “And Annie doesn’t like anyone.”

Bertholdt took a step forward and shook his head. Reiner didn’t seem to have a full understanding of things, but Bertholdt realized, that was understandable, because Bertholdt was yet to tell him that he did not have any interest in Annie the way Reiner was making it out to be. So maybe half the blame was on Bertholdt. Maybe it was time to open his mouth and speak up, for a change.

“You can be quite stupid, Reiner,” he said eventually, causing Reiner to look at him as if he was crazy. Bertholdt couldn’t help but smile plaintively. Reiner looked even more confused at that but that was fine with Bertholdt.

Stepping even closer until they were almost touching, Bertholdt held Reiner’s lost gaze which danced between Bertholdt’s eyes, and then he reached up to grip the side of Reiner’s neck, making him gasp almost inaudibly.

“Bert, what… What are you…?”

But Bertholdt didn’t let him finish. In his opinion, Reiner had spouted more than enough stupid shit already and it was time to stop him from talking—sometimes actions really did speak louder than words, and in that moment that couldn’t have been any truer.

Leaning down, eyes half closed, Berthold pressed his lips to Reiner’s, experimentally at first, learning the angle, the feeling, the heaviness behind the small act. Reiner didn’t move; he just stood there stock-still and wide-eyed until Bertholdt pulled back with a small sigh.

Reiner opened his mouth as if wanting to say something but no sound came out, especially when Bertholdt took advantage of it and with a brief smile he repeated the kiss, only this time with more intent behind it, capturing Reiner’s lower lip and swiping his tongue over it, trying to coax Reiner into kissing him back. Bertholdt was enjoying this more than he’d imagined he would, and he just hoped that he hadn’t misjudged his friend and those telling expressions and reactions of his.

With an inarticulate mumble and a groan, Reiner finally gave up and quickly took charge of the kiss. Closing his eyes and reaching up to pull Bertholdt closer by his shoulders, Reiner attacked his lips as if it was everything he’d ever wanted to do.

And maybe it was, Bertholdt realized.

Maybe they’d always been heading toward this moment; maybe it was inevitable and inescapable.

And maybe there was no maybe about it at all.

Breaking the kiss, locking gazes with Reiner, Bertholdt whispered against his lips with all the conviction he had in that moment, “It will be all right.”

Reiner scoffed, hazel eyes full of doubt, and held onto Bertholdt’s shoulders with a tighter grip. “And if it won’t?”

“Then it won’t,” Bertholdt said simply, easily, and smiled down at him. “But at least we’ll face it together.”

For a seemingly endless second Reiner just stood there, not giving anything away, but then, though unsure and slightly rueful, he smiled back.

 


End file.
